


Blowing Off Steam

by Carbonpixel



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Lexaeus/Zexion, Rebound Sex, Zemyx - Freeform, alcohol mention, feelings with porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:49:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29901345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carbonpixel/pseuds/Carbonpixel
Summary: After a bad breakup, Zexion reluctantly seeks distraction (and solace) at a college house party. Demyx, his flighty classmate from Biology class, provides.
Relationships: Demyx/Zexion (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 9





	Blowing Off Steam

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a quick stress-reliever in between grad school research papers, and also to try out the present tense in prose writing. Many thanks to Besin for beta-reading and generally being super-cool!

“I want to suck your dick.” 

House music pounds in Zexion’s ears, all throbbing bass and tinny non-melodies from the stereo system in the living room. The whoops and hollers of inebriated partygoers mix with the harmonies and add to the din. Clearly, Zexion did not hear him right. “What?” he shouts over the noise.

Demyx leans closer, close enough to whisper in Zexion’s ear over the onslaught of electric synthesizers and synthetic drums. “I said, I want to suck your dick.” 

Zexion holds himself still. His palms start to sweat around the red plastic cup he had filled with orange juice earlier in the evening, under the pretenses of making a screwdriver. He hadn’t wanted to come to this party; not initially. Roxas had mentioned that getting out of the house might help distract him from Lexaeus long enough for him to regain his bearings after the breakup. Xion had said that even if he didn’t want to drink or make a fool of himself dancing, people-watching at parties was just as fun. Axel had bet ten dollars that Zexion “wouldn’t make it to the end of the night,” which meant that Zexion would need to stay out until at least the witching hours to show that he wasn’t “a straight-up dweeb,” in Axel’s parlance. Zexion couldn’t have refused the suggestion, not after _that._

Now, Zexion presses himself against the gaudy striped wallpaper of someone else’s hallway, mocktail in hand, and wonders how he got cornered by the weird talkative guy from his Biology class last semester. Demyx had always sat in the far back corner of the classroom, snoring lightly every time he fell asleep and rattling off inane non-sequiturs every time he was awake. Here, in his natural habitat, Demyx glows, more self-assured than sleepy and more sociable than senseless. His trademark leather jacket fits a house party much better than a lecture hall. “I can’t hear you,” Zexion lies, shaking his head.

Demyx laughs, bright and sharp over the revelry, and slips his hand into Zexion’s. “Come with me,” he mouths, tugging Zexion forward.

Zexion follows Demyx through the hallway and up a flight of carpeted stairs, rushing past the family photos hanging on the walls—whose house was this, anyways? Zexion forgot to ask Roxas before leaving—to a door on the second floor, which Demyx whisks open and pulls Zexion through.

It’s a bedroom, with an overstuffed dresser in the corner, a stack of textbooks on the nightstand, and a Star Wars comforter thrown over the full-sized bed. Zexion hears the door click closed behind him before he can formulate a practical escape plan. “I _said,”_ Demyx repeats, leading Zexion toward the bed by their clasped hands, “I want to suck your dick.”

Zexion's grip on his drink slips, and he nearly drops his cup of orange juice. He gropes to catch it, somehow manages to avoid spilling, and sets it next to the books on the nightstand instead. He glances at the titles: there’s a communication textbook, a thesaurus, and something called a “song anthology” stacked in ascending order of size. “That’s forward,” he says lamely.

“Well, yeah, I mean—” Demyx stops himself, and his party-glow falters, “—if you want. I thought, y’know—” He stammers and shuffles backward, and his hand lets go of Zexion’s in favor of ruffling through his own ridiculous spiked hair. “I thought we had a vibe downstairs.”

Zexion frowns. “A vibe?” 

“Yeah, a vibe. An ‘I’d let you blow me’ vibe, to be specific.” 

Zexion feels a clammy heat creep up his neck. He thinks of his most recent relationship. Though he and Lexaeus had been an item for some time, longer than anyone wagered when they’d first gotten together, they had never engagedwith each other in that sense. Certainly, Lexaeus had never offered so bluntly. “What gave you that idea?” he asks.

Demyx shrugs with his arms bent. His jacket crinkles at his elbows. “I dunno. You were all alone by the wall, but you kept looking over at me until I came over. Didn’t look like you were feeling anyone else, anyway.” 

“You thought I was giving you some sort of signal by lookingat you?” Zexion pitches his voice higher and crosses his arms for sarcastic effect. “Demyx, I know you’re not _that_ stupid.”

“Hey, it’s just an offer,” Demyx replies, holding his hands up in conciliation. “Take it or leave it. I’m not offended either way.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested,” Zexion says without thinking. Inwardly, he balks at his own recklessness. Is he really the type of person to accept sexual favors from strangers? Then again, Demyx isn’t exactly a stranger. More of a tolerable acquaintance. An ideal rebound partner? Zexion dismisses the thought.

Some of Demyx’s glow returns, and he relaxes into a grin just shy of expectant. “In that case,” he starts to say, as he slides his arms around Zexion’s waist, “are you a bed guy, or a standing-up guy?”

Zexion’s mind scatters into pieces as Demyx pulls their bodies together, raising an eyebrow and glancing down at him. Zexion wrangles some of the pieces of his thoughts back together for a coherent response. “Do… some people really prefer to stand up?”

Demyx giggles, touches his forehead to Zexion's. “Oh my god, you’re adorable. Let’s get you to the bed, okay?” 

Zexion lets out a surprised yelp when Demyx draws him forward, lifts him by the waist, and somehow manages to coax Zexion into a deep, sense-encompassing kiss while carrying him. Zexion’s legs wrap around Demyx’s hips on instinct, and they hit the bed in a heavy tangle of limbs. “Someone’s eager,” Zexion gasps, when Demyx starts to tongue at a spot on his neck.

Demyx hums against Zexion’s skin, and his hands reach under Zexion’s shirt to trail along the waistband of his jeans. (They’re the sensible, durable dark wash pair Zexion reserves for social gatherings, where there aren’t any laboratory chemicals to spill on them). “I’ve thought about this for a while,” he says in between kisses. “Ever since you told off Dr. Wise that one time.”

Zexion vaguely remembers correcting their Biology professor’s pronunciation of a complex anatomical term at some point last semester, but can’t place exactly when that was or which term he corrected. “You liked that?”

“Oh, yeah. Smart guys get me going.” Demyx stops, pulls his hands away from Zexion’s jeans, and props himself above Zexion like a tent. He meets Zexion’s eyes, his cheeks flushing a bright pink. “That’s not weird to say, is it? Sometimes I’m weird. You can tell me if I’m being weird.”

Zexion shifts his hips under Demyx, and his jeans chafe on an unexpected erection. He swallows against a dry throat. “No, not at all.”

“Really?”

“My, er, _biology,_ doesn’t seem to mind.” Zexion flicks his gaze toward his crotch, and Demyx’s face lights up in understanding.

"You're _bad,"_ Demyx teases, returning his attention to Zexion's neck. His fingers skim lightly along Zexion's chest before they settle on the skin below Zexion's navel. 

"Like you're one to talk," Zexion shoots back, as Demyx pushes Zexion's shirt up and plants wet, determined kisses down his chest. Demyx presses further, down Zexion's abdomen and toward— "Ah! Wait!"

Zexion tenses on instinct and wrenches himself upright, into the zenith of a sit-up. Demyx sits back on his ankles just in time to avoid getting beaned by Zexion's knees. "What's up?" Demyx asks.

"I… just got out of a relationship." Zexion's eyes dart to the corner of the room, where a pile of used tissues overflows from a wire wastebasket. Ew. Whoever sleeps in this room must be plagued by allergies or chronically ill. Hopefully no diseases linger in the bedspread, Zexion muses.

Demyx responds with aplomb and a grin cocked to the side. "Yeah, I heard. Rumor has it you're a heartbreaker."

Heat rushes to Zexion's face, and his stomache takes on a pink tinge in the corner of his eye. He clears his throat. "I thought you should know…"

"...before you rebound with me?" Demyx waves away any implication of concern. "Don't even worry about it."

"Are you sure?"

"As long as you are."

Zexion sees Lexaeus in the back of his mind, the devastation smeared across his face when Zexion broke off their relationship. He wonders how it would feel to forget about that face for a while. He sighs, then nods. 

Demyx reaches forward and puts both hands on Zexion's chest. "Then relax," he croons, pushing Zexion onto his back. "I got you, okay? I'm good at this."

Unfamiliar fingers trace down Zexion’s chest and make short work of the fly of his jeans. A shock of cold air tinges at his exposed skin, despite the hot breath grazing the tip of his cock. A tentative brush of tongue sends goosebumps pricking at Zexion’s skin. He gasps when Demyx begins in earnest, gentle caresses giving way to confident sweeps.

Demyx, to his credit, tests several angles before falling into a decadent rhythm, drawing Zexion closer to release with each drag along the shaft. Zexion bites his lip, arches his back, and fights the urge to release the moan building deep in his throat. Tears prick at the edges of his eyes as Demyx takes in his whole length, and his entire body shakes as he comes. The moan he had been restraining slips out as a sticky sense of satisfaction settles in his bones.

Zexion lies on the bed, muscles slack, and listens to the sounds of a clean tissue being removed from a container, a mouthful of spunk being spat out, and a used tissue landing on a stack of others in the wastebasket. The mattress bobs under Demyx’s weight as he returns from the wastebasket and lays himself next to Zexion, his hands clasped behind his head. “You good?” he asks, glowing at Zexion in a different way than before.

Hazily, Zexion fumbles with his clothes. He doesn’t answer until his jeans are securely re-zipped. The image of Lexaeus returns to the back of his mind, unbidden, when he closes the button over the zipper. “He proposed to me,” Zexion blurts out.

“Who? Your ex?” Demyx wiggles to lay on his side, his cheek laying on one bent arm. 

“He got down on one knee, with a ring. He said the diamond was a family heirloom, passed through engagement rings and wedding bands. He said, ‘Will you make me the happiest man alive?’ and I said—” Zexion sniffles, Lexaeus-related tears streaming down his face for the seventh time that week. “—I said no. I said, ‘No, I can’t marry you,’ and I broke up with him right there.” He rolls to his side, away from Demyx’s concerned gaze. “I can’t marry anyone. Not yet. I can’t.”

Demyx waits for a moment, the silence carrying both intrigue and Zexion’s undignified sniveling. “Are you afraid?” he asks, in a small, tender voice.

Zexion considers, then wipes one eye. “I’m… young. I have so many things to do before then. I can’t…”

“You don’t want to be tied down.”

Zexion sighs. His legs pull toward his chest. “No, I guess not.”

Demyx hums at a soothing pitch. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up. Sometimes people aren’t at the same place at the same time in relationships. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person or anything. Just on a different page.” A warm hand rests on Zexion’s back. “Do you think you want to stay broken up for good?”

The memory of Lexaeus on one knee, holding up a plain-band ring with an heirloom diamond, surfaces behind Zexion’s closed eyes. The image of Lexaeus staring up at Zexion, dumbfounded, and then getting to his feet, heartbroken, threatens to unleash another volley of tears. “I don’t think he’d want to get back together,” Zexion manages to say, halfway-composed.

Demyx rolls toward Zexion, slinging one arm around Zexion’s waist and placing his chin against Zexion’s shoulder. “Give yourself some time,” he says, cuddling closer. “Focus on you for a while. If it’s meant to be, you guys’ll reconnect. If not, you’ll go on to someone else, who’ll fit better. And in the meantime, if you want to blow off some steam, I’m happy to help. You know where to find me.”

The feeling of another person’s body flush with his own nearly rockets Zexion into the encroaching crying jag. He stuffs it inside himself and creases his brow. “I do?”

“Yes? This is my house?” Demyx laughs, and the vibration of Demyx’s chest against his back dissipates the tension in Zexion’s heart.

Zexion shoots Demyx a confused look over his shoulder. “It is?”

“Wait, you didn’t think I was going down on you in _someone else’s_ room, did you? Holy shit, Zexion, jeez. I have _class_. I take my liaisons in my own house.” Demyx gives Zexion a squeeze before pushing himself upright and off the bed. “Speaking of which, I need to get back down to the party. Feel free to stay up here as long as you want, but fair warning, I will be sleeping in here tonight.” He stops, turns back to Zexion. “Unless you’re into that?”

Zexion scoffs. It’s as if Demyx didn’t just listen to him pour his heart out and cry all over a novelty comforter. The _audacity_ of some people. “Maybe some other time. I’ve had enough fun for tonight, and I’m a bit vulnerable at the moment.”

Demyx’s bravado wavers. “Oh! Of course. I, uh… sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Zexion gathers the bedspread in one hand, grasping at a picture of a disk-shaped spaceship behind him, and yanks the covers around himself. “Just for that, I’m keeping these insipid blankets all to myself tonight.”

“Ha, okay. I sleep hot anyway.” Demyx beams, wide and genuine. He winks, but the gesture feels sincere. Almost playful. “See you then.”

“Don’t even think of trying anything, either!” Zexion calls out, while Demyx slinks out of the room and shuts the door gently. 

He peeks out from under the comforter at the digital clock on the dresser. The hour is just past midnight. He very well could stay in Demyx’s bedroom all night, cocooning himself in Demyx’s Star Wars bed linens that smell like someone else’s skin. He very well could continue to fraternize with Demyx during the night, and bury his thoughts of Lexaeus in someone else’s affections. He could also just sleep, and confront his demons some other time. 

Either way, Axel is going to _eat_ his words when he returns home in the morning, Zexion thinks to himself.


End file.
